


I Swear I'm Yours to Keep

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 01:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: Joonmyun likes taking care of things, and Tao was made to be taken care of





	I Swear I'm Yours to Keep

**Author's Note:**

> 2013 fic
> 
> full disclosure: this fic was called creepy, specifically my portrayal of tao. i haven't read it again, so i can't confirm/deny. just want you guys to be aware, you know

They met at a bar.

Joonmyun, handsome in a traditional, year-book-picture sort of way, newly promoted, loose tie, loose limbs, sloppy dances. Thrumming with need, laughing just a little too loud.

And Zitao, handsome in a captivating, be-my-muse sort of way, newly arrived, dark eyes, dark hair, dark chuckles. Gyrating smoothly, lisping accented Korean.<

Zitao's eyelids were heavy, chin pressing to the top of Joonmyun's head, and Joonmyun gripped his slim hips, grinding like he had something to prove. 

Joonmyun bought him overpriced drinks, stumbled over cheesy pick up lines, and Zitao played suave and dispassionate, indulgent, like maybe he belonged someplace else, deserved somebody better. 

But when Joonmyun leaned forward, brushing his lips against Zitao's  earlobe, sucking briefly—boldly—on a piercing there,  coaxing him back to his loft, promising a good time, Zitao agreed with a soft smile. And when Joonmyun kissed him breathless, pressed him facefirst into Egyptian cotton, fucking the pretty, petulant look off his face, Zitao moaned loudly, grinding back. Groaning hotly because it had been _so fucking long_ , Joonmyun fisted him tightly, dropping kisses and whisper-soft "baby's" against the quivering skin of his spine, and Zitao slumped forward,  whimpering back breathless, desperate "daddy's." And when he came—a trembling, beautiful thing—collapsing outright and dragging Joonmyun with him, it was with that word choking past his lips. And Joonmyun discovered something about himself that night, as he tugged Zitao upwards again, weakly by the roots of his hair, urging the pliant, sated man with bruising grips, forceful thrusts, and commanding whispers to say it again and again and again.

Zitao stayed that night. His sleek muscles undulating lazily underneath taut, dark skin as he rolled over to cuddle into Joonmyun's side, their bodies a play of contrasts in the harsh fluorescent light. Soft to firm, light to dark, long to small. Zitao pressed soft lips to Joonmyun's collarbone in a gesture that Joonmyun thought dimly was way too intimate for a one night stand. And Joonmyun, blissed out on orgasm and the warm body pressed tight to his own, absently considered keeping him because Zitao was the kind of person you kept and Joonmyun hadn't kept in so, so long.

The next morning, Zitao's voice was too soft, his movements too shy, fingers feather-light along Joonmyun's ribs as he murmured something about wanting pancakes and eggs. He made his eyes soft, too, and Joonmyun pressed an even softer hand to Zitao's jawline, asking in a murmur if he wanted to spend the day, too.

Zitao, smiling softly, shyly,  agreed. 

They had waffles and Chinese takeout.

And Joonmyun blew him once, clenching his fingers tight into Zitao's thighs to hold him steady against his granite countertops. Fucked him twice. Once with Zitao's cheek pressed tight against the wall, moans dampening the expensive wallpaper. The other, forehead to forehead, excruciatingly slow, with Zitao whimpering against his mouth at every exquisitely slow, measured thrust.

And Joonmyun started to fall in love with the arch of Zitao's spine, the curve of his lips, the wrecked quality of his voice as it broke over his new forbidden favorite.

He pressed his business card into Zitao's warm palm as he pressed a lingering kiss to his jawline, trying to keep the question in his eyes from being too obvious and too needy.

But Zitao _did_ call. Five days later, voice halting and pitchy, stumbling over his syllables.

And he bought him this awful, ill-fitting sweater as a pink-faced thank you on their first date. Joonmyun pulled it over his head even though it itched and bunched around his stomach and elbows.

When he invited Zitao upstairs, the younger immediately dropped to his knees, pawing at his pants but pleading with him to keep the sweater on as he took him into his mouth, murmuring something about how glad he was to have pleased, _Daddy._

And it was stupid and reckless and so _un_ Kim Joonmyun, but the tight, wet heat of Zitao's pretty mouth and the downward tilt of his eyelashes and the garbled mentions of that forbidden word. Joonmyun cupped Zitao's face, pressing down on the outline of his own erection against Zitao's cheek, groaning reverently before asking him to be his baby. Move in with him. Let him keep him please. Just please.

He couldn't even regret it, because Zitao's eyes crinkled in the corners, and he sucked more enthusiastically, bobbed once, and Joonmyun was coming _hard_.

And it made sense, he reasoned, rubbing his thumb against Zitao's slick, puffy bottom lip. Because he was young, successful. Because he had more than enough money.  Because Joonmyun liked taking care of things, and Tao—with his soft voice, soft eyes, soft, _sinful_ hands—was made to be taken care of.

 

Within two months, he'd set him up in his loft. Within a year, much longer than they were expected to have lasted, he knew, things have fallen into an easy pattern.

His lovely Zitao. Pretty, petulant, particular, but tender. Hard lines becoming supple, piercing eyes suddenly docile and obedient, all tinkling laughter and crinkled eyes and soft moans whenever Joonmyun—his _Daddy_ —touches him.

And the long hours, stressful days melt away when he comes home to his pretty baby, whispering that he loves him. That he's missed him. That he wants him right _now_. He's been thinking about it _all day._

It's Friday, and Zitao greets him in just his boxers, towering over him in his need, nosing along Joonmyun's jawline, rutting softly against his stomach. And Joonmyun thinks about the contrasts between their bodies again as Zitao presses him against the wall, lolls his head downward to murmur about how much he loves him. Because Joonmyun is softer, paler, smaller, slighter, more delicate, more vulnerable. But one well placed caresses, his fingers twisting into the hair at the nape of Zitao's neck, and Zitao is whimpering against his skin, falling to his knees.

"No, baby," he corrects softly, petting over his cheek, smiling gently as Zitao leans forward to nuzzle him through his pants. "No." 

It's not outright rejection, but Zitao grumbles, nonetheless. "I can make you feel good," he insists testily, pouting. "I want to make you feel good."

" _No_ , Zitao."

Zitao whines about how much he wants it. Needs it.

Joonmyun presses his thumb into Zitao's jawline. He can feel his bottom lip tremble. "Listen to Daddy, Zitao."

Zitao lets out this obscene moan, and the sound goes straight to Joonmyun's cock. It twitches in his pants. And it's so easy. Joonmyun's always so easy.

"But Daddy, I mis—"

"No," he repeats, voice harder.

And when he looks down Zitao has tears brimming in his eyes, clinging to his eyelashes. And there's an apology to be made in the aftermath.

"Baby," he cajoles, fingers suddenly soft, rubbing soothingly over Zitao's eyelids. "It's okay."

But Zitao shakes his head hard, clenching his eyes shut tightly and biting his bottom lip. 

"Do you really want to that bad, baby?"

Zitao nods curtly, face flushing.

"Did you miss me that much?"

Another nod, a small sound made in the back of his throat.

"Stand up."

He curls his fingers into Zitao's black strands, uses them to angle Zitao when he presses their mouths together. Zitao moans into his mouth. Joonmyun maneuvers their bodies to press him back against the wall, and Zitao slumps with a gasp to accommodate for the height difference as Joonmyun glides his tongue into his mouth. He kisses him hard, deep, teasing one hand over his hip. He paints every inch of his mouth, sucks his lower lip before tangling his tongue with his, and he can feel Zitao slackening further against him with a low sigh.

"When I say 'no,' baby," he groans in between breaths, suckling on Zitao's neck. "It's not because I don't want you, too. It's not because I didn't miss you."

Zitao lets out this little huff of acknowledgement, and then a hiccuping sigh when Joonmyun grips him loosely through the cotton material. He jerks forward, slumps further, legs encasing Joonmyun's body as he knocks his forehead against Joonmyun's clothed shoulder, panting harshly against the material.

"Do you understand?" he asks, voice soft. He slides his fingers under the fabric, smears his thumb against the head of Zitao's erection.

Zitao bucks.

"Answer me, baby."

"Y-y-yes."

Fingers curl around the back of his neck, tugging him closer, so he can moan directly against his lips.

"I just want you inside me, Daddy," he breathes, distraught, like it's been weeks and not 5 days.

Joonmyun smirks slightly, obliging him with a gentle tug at his wrist. 

He strips down to his boxers, too, before pressing him back into the mattress and smiling against Zitao's warm, trembling skin.

He laves passing caresses on Zitao's neck, collarbone, nipples, tummy, before he's mouthing over Zitao's erection, while the other tenses completely, trying to relearn how to breathe. 

He plants one hand firmly on his tummy, holding him in place as he slides down the offending fabric. Groping blindly before slicking his fingers, he moves them in a careful teasing glide, Zitao whining all the while. Until Joonmyun's fingers are teasing past puckered flesh into overwhelming warmth. A tremor passes through Zitao's body, and Joonmyun sucks the head of his cock into his mouth as he works him open.

Zitao huffs, undulating, chin crashing against his collarbone. He's always been a sucker for the visuals. For how _pretty_ his Daddy looks whenever they're intimate. So Joonmyun makes a point of fluttering his eyelashes, puffing out his lips, sliding down achingly slow. He releases a filthy moan right against Zitao's cock, furrowing his eyebrows as he teases his tongue against the tip. Zitao's body bows, and his hands tighten to fists at his side from the force of not thrusting upwards. 

By the third finger, Zitao's entire body is a livewire. Joonmyun lifts the hand from his tummy to thread their fingers together, and Zitao squeezes hard, moaning loudly, and pleading brokenly for his Daddy to get him inside him please, he needs it so bad, please. 

Joonmyun clambers upwards, shushing him with a soft "it's okay, baby." He tugs him forward, but he can barely manage a kiss as Joonmyun angles himself, thrusts in.

Zitao's entire body arches

The soft flesh of Joonmyun's thighs smack against Zitao's with every thrust, and Zitao's hands scramble for purchase, like he doesn't know where to touch. Just that he needs to keep touching. Just that he needs to anchor himself through the pleasure. He writhes desperately, runs his fingers up Joonmyun's biceps, drags them through his hair, blinking up at him with wide heavy eyes, biting his lip, releasing delicious sounds.

Joonmyun lifts Zitao's legs to his waist, pounding in harder and harder, crashing their lips together to drink in every broken little puff of breath. His chest heaves, his voice breaks, but he manages little moans of "Daddy" and garbled "I love you's."

He gasps into his mouth when Joonmyun reaches down to jerk him off, urges him in low grunts to come for his Daddy, please, like a good baby.

Zitao throws his head back, thrashes. Joonmyun can feel him melt from the inside out, body tensing and releasing.

Zitao quivers with the aftershocks. Limp, panting, he begs his Daddy to come, too. Joonmyun gives into the mounting pleasure, zapping quickly through his body, as his baby cradles his head, grinds upward purposefully, moans about how he wants to _feel_ it, know his Daddy enjoyed it, too.

When he recovers, Zitao is tucked into his side, breathing shakily into his collarbone. And he fits so well into the juncture between shoulder and neck. And he fits so well in the empty space in his bed, in his closet, in his heart


End file.
